
Uilii 



.mfiHiiuilit 



Class pf~Zrify 2) 
DOBELL COLLECTION 



frfir Untgfit of IKoggentnirg, 



TRANSLATED 

FROM THE GERMAN OF SCHILLER. 

A a 



PRINTED FOR SALE AT THE SITELFOTU) BAZAAR, 
(K TOTiKU 07tii and \>«th, 1842. 



205449 
'13 



The Translator lias kindly permitted this Ballad to be 
Printed, in aid of the Funds for Building a National 
School for the Parishes of Great and Little Shelford. 



"§£mgl)t, a true=felt Sister's lobe 
©tons mg ijeart for gou ; 

&sft me for no otljer lobe, 
It pams me tofjeu gou Ho, 



" ealmlg ean £ see gou Ijere ; 

Calm gour going see; 
&ntr gour silent ^nesting tear 

But fcetoilirers me." 



And he hears with woe supprest; — 
Tears him thence by force ; — 

Clasps her wildly to his breast; — 
Leaps upon his horse. 

Sends to all his men of war, 

In the Switzers' land; 
To the Holy Grave they fare, 

They, the Red Cross band. 

There are mighty actions done ; 

There his arm is strong ; 
There their crests are ever shown 

'Mid the foremost throng. 



And the Toggenburgher's name 
Frights each Moslem chief : 

Yet his woe is still the same, 
Nor can find relief. 

Now a painful year is over, 
He no more can bear; 

Rest nor peace can he discover, 
And he leaves the war: 

Sees a ship on Joppa's strand, 
With its swelling sails ; 

Hies him to the much-lov'd land 
Where she breathes the gales. 



There at her tall Castle's bounds 
Does the Pilgrim knock ; — 

Opes the door ; — the answer sounds 
Like the thunder's shock : 

" Sfjc gou sceft tfje bed uoto tot ars, 
£s tfie Bvttrc of littaben ; 

gcstertras tottf) pomp antr pragfrs 
Sije to (3o& toas gtocu/' 

Then he leaves, for aye and ever. 

Towers, his father's pride ; 
At his weapons looks he never, 

Nor his courser tried. 



Down the Toggenburg's high stair 
Goes unmark'd, unknown ; 

Sordid weeds and cloth of hair 
Round his body thrown. 

And he builds him soon a shed 
Near that spot on earth, 

Where, in limes embowered, 
Look'd her Convent forth. 

Waiting there from morning's rays 

Till the eve came on, 
Silent hope in straining gaze, 

There he sat alone. 



Look'd across the cloister's grove, 
Stedfast, long, and hard, 

To the window of his love, 
Till the casement jarr'd; 

Till the lovely form was shown ; 

Till the dear-loved face 
Bent into the valley down, 

Mild, with angel grace. 

Then he laid him down to rest. 

Slept consoled, and fain 
Hoped the morrow might be blest 

With her look again. 



Thus he sat for days and years 

On the rock so hard, 
Waiting with no plaints or tears, 

Till the window jarr'd; 

Till the lovely form was shown ; 

Till the dear-loved face 
Bent into the valley down, 

Mild, with angel grace. 

And one morn, in that same place 
Sat a corpse all chill, 

With its pale and stiffened face 
Towards that window still. 



Dec. 27, 1839- 



\v. vv. 



